Stuck
by Eyrmia
Summary: He lifted his bound servo, causing Arcee's to raise as well, seeing as how they were cuffed together. Not by energy cuffs, either, no, they were metal. Hard metal, at that. Plus, they were also locked to a protrusion in the wall. It wasn't possible to break them. Arcee had already tried. Smokescreen and Wheeljack are going to die.


**AN:** Yeah, I've _really_ gotten into Ratchet/Arcee. I've got it _bad_. cx

I hope I kept everyone in character. This was so much fun to write! You can count on more Ratchet/Arcee works to come (and maybe some Wheelcee and other pairings sprinkled in there too).

* * *

"Well this is just great! Perfect! No, really, _five stars_!"

"Ratchet–"

"How is this funny? What could _possibly_ compel them to do this?"

Arcee rolled her optics and continued her efforts to pick the lock, but it was quite difficult with only one free servo, and Ratchet's movement was of no help.

"Maybe if you'd stop ranting and _moving about_ , we could get unstuck _faster_ ," she finally hissed at the medic, and he simply fixed her with his icy glare. Finally, though, he relented with a sigh. He lifted his bound servo, causing Arcee's to raise as well, seeing as how they were cuffed together. Not by energy cuffs, either, no, they were metal. _Hard_ metal, at that. Plus, they were also locked to a protrusion in the wall. It wasn't possible to break them. Arcee had already tried.

Fortunately for them, though, each had a free servo. The trouble was working together to unlock the cuffs so they could escape the room, which happened to the energon storage area. The lights were also off – making it even more difficult to unlock the cuffs, even with their headlights on.

"I'm going to _murder_ them," Ratchet seethed, and Arcee elbowed him harshly, causing a grunt.

"Focus!" she snapped, furrowing her optic ridges as she wiggled the lockpick in the keyhole. And no, she didn't have lockpicks just laying around in her subspace. The slaggers had given them one. Well, three – but there was only one left. Ratchet had broken the first in a fit of anger and they'd lost the other.

They knew _exactly_ who'd done it, too: Wheeljack and Smokescreen, and probably with Bulkhead's help. Magnus, Optimus, and Bumblebee were currently on a mission to who-knows-where (Wheeljack had been in charge of the GroundBridge when they left, and Ratchet was taking a rare nap – something that probably wouldn't occur again for a _very_ long time).

"Ratchet, hold your servo still!"

The medic froze, optics flicking to the lockpick. A click, and Arcee's optics widened, but the it had merely slipped. The femme cursed and tried again, her movements getting more and more frustrated.

"Arcee–" Ratchet began, but he was too late. There was an ominous snapping sound, and the two-wheeler hurled the former lockpick across the room, impaling an energon cube. "Nice throw," the mech deadpanned. Arcee snarled and crossed her free servo beneath her other arm in an attempt to show defiance.

After a few minutes, Arcee tugged her cuffed servo in a downward motion, causing the medic to glance at her. She pointed to the ground, expression still cross, and he snorted in amusement.

"Not until you ask."

"Fragger," she muttered. "I want to sit down."

"Alright," he said simply, shrugging and then sitting on his knees. She sat down beside him, with her legs tucked as if she were wearing a human skirt.

"How long do you think until they come in and free us?"

"We'll probably have to wait until Optimus gets back."

"So…?"

"A few hours, at the least."

Arcee groaned and hit her helm against the wall in frustration. "When you kill Wheeljack and Smokescreen, can I help?"

"Fine."

"How should we kill them?"

Ratchet adopted a thoughtful look, though it had a dash of evil as well. Talking about their murder plans would be a good way to pass the time. "We could…We could bridge them to a–"

"Forest. A dark one with tall…What are they called?"

"Confucius trees?"

"Yes!" Arcee put a digit to her chin, thinking. "Disable their T-cogs and take away Wheeljack's swords. Then we could hunt them down." Her optics narrowed and she grinned playfully, causing Ratchet to give a small smile as well. He knew they were joking, but it was still amusing to see the… _creative_ ideas Arcee could come up with.

Eventually they gravitated away from that topic and began discussing the humans. Arcee actually managed to get the medic admit that yes, he did care for them, and wouldn't want them to leave – not even Miko.

* * *

"Five. Slagging. Hours." Ratchet moaned, helm in his servos. That's how long they'd been stuck in the room. Arcee nodded sluggishly.

"Perhaps something's wrong with the Bridge," she muttered, and Ratchet punched his fist into the ground.

"Then they should have come let us out so I could repair it!" he complained, static lacing his words. Arcee was too weary to say anything in comfort, so she remained silent.

Seven more hours, and they were still trapped. Arcee had fallen into recharge long ago, her helm resting against Ratchet's right shoulder. He was close as well, but didn't _dare_ get caught asleep. What would Miko say? She was bound to turn the situation into some kind of "dirty" (a new human concept he'd learned – regretfully) idea.

Four hours later, and Ratchet was in recharge as well, despite what he'd decided earlier. Suddenly, the sound of a voice startled him back into consciousness.

"You put Ratchet and Arcee in _there_? That's evil! That's _ingenious_!"

 _Miko._

Ratchet growled and prepared to give whoever opened the door a serious vocal beating. The door opened slowly. The medic opened his mouth and primed his voicebox as light spilled into the room, but his vocalizer cycled down when the familiar red and blue paintjob appeared.

Optimus raised an optic ridge, a tiny smile on his faceplate, and Ratchet glared.

"Don't. You. _Dare_ ," he gritted out, optics narrowing dangerously. The Prime merely shook his helm calmly as he flicked on the light, optics flicking to the leaking energon cube before moving back to his medic and scout.

Smokescreen soon appeared as well, and Ratchet's optics blazed. The rookie grinned sheepishly, raising an open servo in greeting, then retreated. His receding pedesteps echoed harshly as he ran down the hall. Miko, on the other hand, walked right into the room, laughing.

"Enjoying yourself, Doc-bot?" she asked, and Ratchet felt the intense need to squash her. He even played it in his processor, but ultimately decided against the idea. It would be too messy. Oh, and Bulkhead would probably kill him for it.

Miko then turned to look at Arcee, who was miraculously still asleep. She then proceeded to grab her phone and snap a picture, smiling impishly as she skipped out of the room, oblivious to Ratchet's enraged expletives.

"Now, old friend," Optimus began, putting a servo on the medic's shoulder. "Remember that Miko is still a youngling."

"When _I_ was a youngling, we cursed all the time," Ratchet retorted.

"Not around your creators."

"Oh, shut your trap, Prime, and unlock us."

"I don't think you deserve it," Optimus said, a hint of mischief in his optics. Ratchet's mouth hung open. This was not Prime-like _at all_.

"Please," he muttered, glaring at the ground like a scolded sparkling.

"Very well, old friend," the Prime said, grabbing a key from his subspace and inserting it into the lock, unlatching the cuffs.

"What happened?"

Ratchet glanced over as Arcee sluggishly booted up. Her servos reached forward in a stretch, gears popping, before she stood up. Suddenly it dawned on her. She glanced at her previously-cuffed servo, optics lighting.

"Thank you, Optimus," she said respectfully, smiling. "How long was it?" she asked Ratchet.

"Sixteen hours," he said, optics flicking to Optimus. "When did you get back from your mission?"

The Prime back up a few paces. "Six hours ago."

"What?" Ratchet howled, shooting to his pedes with a murderous glint in his optics. Optimus nodded slowly, then turned and fast-walked down the hallway. Arcee chuckled as Ratchet scowled after him, servos twitching as if he wanted to engage his blades.

"Hey, at least you got to get some recharge, right?" she said. "How long?"

"Four hours," was the curt reply.

"You should get more than that."

"I'm busy."

She walked over to him, standing so she was facing his front, although her helm only came up to his chassis. "Or is it something more?"

He raised an optic ridge, frown still visible on his faceplate.

"I get them too," she went on, optics shining knowingly. "Nightmares. Bad dreams. Corrupted fluxes, memories – whatever you want to call them." Her voice grew sympathetic. "And I know it's hard. But you can't get over it by attempting to erase it and hurting your own systems in the process."

The medic turned his helm away, optics growing dim.

"Because then you'll forget the good parts, too. Friends, family…lovers," she finished, then put her servo on his. "I used to do that too, Ratchet, and it got me _nowhere_. At least _try_ to get some recharge, alright? Do it for one week and see what happens."

A moment's hesitation, and he nodded.

"Promise me."

He sighed and rubbed pinched his nasal piece in exasperation.

" _Ratchet_ …"

"I promise."

Her optics brightened. "Thank you. And don't think I won't make sure you keep it," she added, "because I'll bug you until you do."

His own teal optics rolled. "Fine, fine."

She nodded, then grabbed his elbow and led him out of the room. "Now come on – it's time to kill Smokescreen and Wheeljack."


End file.
